The Poland Journal (with a London coda)

April 5-16, 2013 By David Berkowitz

Saturday, April 6, 2013 9:22pm (Poland time) Andel's Hotel Lodz How many worlds are we in right now?

The Williamsburgification of Lodz: our hotel is a reclaimed factory

in a new, upscale shopping and cultural neighborhood

There's the hotel itself, a microcosm among microcosms, a renovated factory that was turned into one of the nicest hotels in Poland, replete with high ceilings, wrought iron, skylights, and a sushi bar. The hotel is the heart of the new Manufaktura district, bustling with shops and galleries and restaurants. It's beside the Poznanski Palace, now a museum (one we couldn't get into just before closing time), built originally by the second wealthiest factory owner in Lodz until going bankrupt just before the Nazis took over. Lodz (pronounced “Woodj” in Polish) once boasted 230,000 Jews (now there are only 300 known Jewish families, while some may be descended from Jewish converts without knowing it). Most wound up in the 4km-sq ghetto, and then wound up murdered. In recent years, memorials have sprung up to honor them, such as the chilling Radegast train station that once served as the gateway for sending Jews to the death camps, and now serves as the most prominent testimonial to what happened in Lodz. There seems to be an effort to make people realize what happened in their own hometown. Some families undoubtedly have lived in Lodz since well before the war. Others, as our guide Piotr noted, were imported later – a Communist resettlement program to purify nationalities, uprooting ex-pats and sending them back to where they came from across the Communist bloc.

The smokestack memorial at the Radegast railway station reminding all: “Thou shalt not kill”

It's hard to escape the signs of Judaism. Rarely have I felt so Jewish as I have in Poland. Part of it is because I am here in my fatherland; my people lived here for hundreds of years, so why not embrace it? Part of it is an act of defiance; I'm the descendant of those who were forced out, and now I'm back, a testament to those who survived and remember where they come from. How much of this is a triumph? It's hard to say. It's fascinating being here, and it's hard to gauge just what emotions one might feel at any given moment. The train from Warsaw to Lodz was particularly rough. Through the sound of the wheels, I could hear the screams of people who perished here. I don't know what they were saying, just that they demanded to be heard. It was a living horror film. I managed to drift to sleep. The day started in the air. Thanks in part to the NyQuil sleep aid, I managed to crash early on the 6:30pm flight to Warsaw, passing out by 7pm and sleeping until around 8:30am Poland time (2:30am US) just before the plane landed. While not perfect, it was one of the better plane sleeps I've had. Arriving at the airport was easy, though it took a bit to find our checked luggage, given that the top handle had broken off along the way and it thus wasn't as easy to identify. It was a rough and tumble crowd on the flight, with lots of feisty, older Poles who would elbow their way into any spot and not listen to anyone, including flight attendants who had to flight back with equal force. This is Grandmom's stock – her people. Only by coming to Poland can I appreciate just how Polish that woman is. Meanwhile, I was surprised to see our neighboring passenger (who I nicknamed “Featherhat”) need a wheelchair given the gusto with which he was maneuvering around the plane. C has no clue how I slept so well.

The LOT Polish Airlines flight promoted kosher vodka –

the first of many signs we’d encounter of Poland embracing its Jewish heritage

At JFK, we left from Terminal 1, which is not just a United Nations terminal but a UN committee of a haphazard medley of countries, with airlines from Jamaica, France, Korea, Morocco, Poland, and Russia's Aeroflot all intermingling. Most of the food is before security, and the Korean/Aeroflot/LOT lounge [really] wouldn't let us in, so we had to settle for a salad (C) and sandwich (D) at some sort of wine bar. Back to Poland: we got through security at Warsaw, and my contact Bartek was kind enough to pick us up, drive us to the train station, and then have breakfast with us (I had a chicken sandwich, C had egg whites – a 'large portion' that wasn't so large; my tea was okay but I had a fresh orange/pineapple/kiwi juice that was delicious). He further gave us the train tickets for the rest of our journey as well as a phone we could use, and then escorted us all the way on to the train. Once there, C had to inform a couple of Poles that they were in our window seats. Later, the train conductor had a very lengthy exchange with them as they clearly didn't have the right seats, though I slept through most of anything that happened on the train. We arrived and found a cab waiting for us (thanks to Bartek) and made our way to the Andel Hotel Lodz, magnificent in its bright, red brick, and they were kind enough to upgrade us to a suite. This may well be the first hotel room I've stayed in with a switch to heat the bathroom floor – a nice bonus in this frigid country, with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark. Granted, there's something fitting about being here in the cold. A dusting of snow was falling as we stepped out of the Warsaw airport, and snow may well hinder our trip to my grandmother’s hometown area around Bolkow, but it seems to be a country designed to require that kind of hardiness. It also makes emotions run even deeper here. It's hard enough to imagine how people lived in the ghetto in the months and years leading up to their slaughter, but as we travel around in our warm clothing with breathable fabrics to withstand rough weather, all the while plenty well fed and hardly exerting ourselves in the slightest, it makes one wonder how so many people survived such hardships for as long as they did.

The starkness of the extended Polish winter only made the trip more emotional.

With our guide Piotr, our main focus today was touring the addresses of C’s ancestors in Lodz. The homes in central Lodz were once prime real estate but now are in a neglected urban core. We entered a few courtyards, and in the most neglected building, we went up to the second floor to see if we could get in an apartment, but no one would let us in. Piotr noted it was due to the remnants of Soviet times when anyone could have been spying on their neighbor, so a coldness pervades. While some apartments have been divided and likely renovated, the buildings themselves remain, and one wonders how long some of them will hold up. We did get to walk the streets of C's ancestors, and perhaps even some of their courtyards and stairwells, seeing much of what they saw, albeit during very different times. The graffiti was disquieting, with many using the symbol of an R and S flanking a Jewish star, a symbol of anti-Semitically charged slurs about one of the soccer teams. Piotr woefully noted that younger people today lack awareness of and sensitivity toward what it all means; such graffiti started in the 1950s and 60s. At the last stop on our list, we had just enough time to take a few quick photos outside when a pack of drunken late-teens or twentysomethings was approaching singing what sounded like soccer chants, so we decided not to stay long and darted back to the car.

No Jews are here – just soccer hooligans

We got to see some other monuments, including Survivor Field from afar, honoring the survivors of Lodz as well as the righteous gentiles. I got a few quick photos of the monument to war hero Kosciuszko – also a hero of America's Revolutionary War. There was also the park in the former ghetto with the statue of Moses and the Decalogue – an unusual sight given Judaism's aversion to graven images, but striking nonetheless, and Piotr noted it was for the locals, not the Jews.

This statue of Moses may not play well in a synagogue due to Judaism’s prohibition against

graven images, but it’s important for the locals

Piotr dropped us at the hotel at around 5:40. After a stop at a grocery store in Manufaktura, we headed near the main drag, off Piotrkowska St, to the restaurant Anatewka. It was an unusual sensory feast from the start, with the Jewish lettering and numerous security system signs in the window. Inside the front door was a mannequin of a Hasid at a cash register. The room was bedecked in Judaica – ritual objects, artwork, photos. The owner, who we first met when he was going around pouring shots of an outstanding honey vodka, later said much was from Vienna, and that others continually give him more now. C asked our server if the owner was Jewish, and the server replied, "No, he's an atheist." The music played was mostly Yiddish, with familiar songs like Az De Rebbe Tantst (“As the Rabbi Dances”), Rebbe Elimelech (“Rabbi Elimelech”), Oyfn Pripetishik (“On the Cooking Stove”), and Tumbalalaika (some Yiddish even came back to me – a surreal experience in the middle of Lodz). I wish I could have taken a menu home – a page just for herring, dishes dedicated to various people, goose, duck, kasha, beetroot, kosher vodka, Jewish tea with rum, and pages full of delights familiar and unheard of. C started with a hearty broth soup which was perfect for this weather, while I enjoyed a special sour herring with pickle and carmelized pears, plus a bit of cheese – fantastic. Then came the main course, with C getting a chicken thigh, and I had a beautiful spread: half a roast duck (succulent, with crispy skin), potatoes, cranberries in a baked apple, a side of beets, and probably more I'm forgetting. I kept eating, and there was constantly more to sample. The Ukrainian beer Obolon helped wash it down, along with the bit of vodka. Outstanding. But what a way to make the head spin.

This duck and potato dish was one of the best dishes I had in Poland

(and way up there among any meal I’ve eaten)

This is the 19th century version of multitasking: praying and counting money at the same time

Time to wrap this up. It's hard to make sense of so much of this, but we made it. The biggest challenge was getting here (perhaps more on that soon). Now it's time to soak in the rest. Sunday, April 7 8:37pm Andel's Hotel Lodz, 176 Here's much of the story of today, as told in an email to my father (slightly edited for clarity): Dad, Today was really fascinating, and you should really see if there's any way possible you can make it to the Wielun area. It was amazing what we were able to dig up, and none of it was exactly where we thought it would be. We actually didn't go to Wielun at all [the town my grandmother says she hails from]. We did go to Bolkow [the tiny village where she said the family mill was] just north of there, though we were told by a friendly local there's another village just east of there that was possibly where our family was from (though it didn't turn out to be the case). We also saw a bit of Niemierzyn (possible birthplace of your father) and Skrzynno (birthplace of your grandmother Branna,

according to aunt Esther’s testimony at http://www.zchor.org/wielun/berkowicz.htm -- which you must reread, as I think there's a lot more info now than there was before).

Entering the town (street) where my grandfather and namesake quite probably came from,

I left it moments later When we were searching for the other Bolkow (now renamed something else), we wound up in the village of Okalew, There, we were a major attraction at the local market, and one person called another until another neighbor showed up who seemed to know more about the town history. Most seemed familiar with the Berkowicz family formerly living there and noted we owned a windmill, a saw mill, and the water pump at the fire engine. And yes, we had to convince several people we had no interest in the land – just the history of the family. Our guide Piotr was extremely helpful with all of that. The neighbor, whose name was Tadeusz (Tadek), accompanied us for quite awhile after. He took us to someone's house in a neighboring town and, after he went into someone's house to check on the situation, had us follow him in. The man there, very Catholic given all the crosses and Pope pictures on the wall, is also a local historian specializing in fire brigades. He gave me a copy of the book with the photo in it that's now on the Zchor page, the one with Reuben and Berek in 1935. The book has many other references to the family, including how many hectares of land our family owned. This author and historian is named Miroslaw Jedrzejewski, and his address is in Ostrowek [Note: all the records in the book note it was the property of Dawid Berkowicz, Branna's father.]

Reuben (far left) and Berek (second from right) Berkowicz, when the fire broke out at the mill, from the book co-authored by Miroslaw

After spending some time with him, we then went on to the next part of the journey. It's Miroslaw who would love to see you, and on Monday he is going to go to the Wielun museum where the director might have more info. He will send what he can to my guide, but he would love to meet you in person, especially as you can understand at least a bit of Polish and are even more closely connected to the family history. He was incredibly warm and it's quite an opportunity to get to talk to him, as he knows quite a bit about the area.

With my new friends Miroslaw the author and Tadek the local connector

Then we headed out once more. Now, we asked many times about the mill and specifically a mill that later became a gas station [as has been mentioned often in family lore]. It's pretty clear to everyone there that they knew about the Berkowicz mill, they knew we actually had two mills (windmill and saw mill), and they seemed to know pretty well where it was; it was more of an issue of me not seeking any claim to the land (I told them I'm quite happy in New York, though Poland is quite lovely, thanks). What did happen was Tadeusz had us drive to another home nearby. After a bit of convincing, the man living there (seemingly a farmer, or at least keeping a small farm along with whatever else he did), agreed to meet us, and the owner continually warmed up. He said that, yes, this was the Berkowicz property. The house had changed hands several times in the years after the war. He knew, without us prompting at all, that the house was lived in by a worker from the Berkowicz mill (presumably the worker who killed [Grandmom’s brother] Avram, but he didn't know). Whoever lived there wound up moving shortly thereafter to Skrzynno, and probably lives there still. His family came a few years after the war, originally working the land in hopes that they could later buy the property, and ultimately they were able to buy it, and it was this man's father who built the current home and buildings on the land.

He took us into the snow-covered field where a mound remains that was the site of the old windmill. Nothing has been built on top of that site, and one can even see a millstone and a few remnants of the foundation. He pointed out to another area further away in the same field that was the site of the sawmill. There was no doubt to him this was the Berkowicz property. He also mentioned the name [Grandmom’s brother] Berek, and said two women related to him visited there perhaps in the late 1980s. I wonder if his daughters went out that way.

Our host at the site of what may be the old Berkowicz mill

Home?

We left the property owner, declining his invite to have us over for coffee, so we could make our way to Lututow. There, in the town square, we found the 2010 memorial to the Jews of Lututow. We know that Branna, Dora, Goldbart, and Dora's 2 kids were all in the Lututow ghetto before being deported to Chelmno. We also know Uncle Meir spent some time going back "home to Lututow" when he was in the Ostrowek work camp. [Meir’s wife] Estusha was born there, and there was a sizable Jewish population. Cousin Oded and others traced much of our family ancestry to Lututow, and it's even possible, based on a researcher I contacted years ago, that Meir was born there. After paying my respects at the memorial, we visited the old synagogue, a building that had various uses since the Holocaust and now seems to be in disuse. You can read more about Lututow here: http://www.sztetl.org.pl/en/city/lututow/ . Apparently an "R. Berkowicz" was the cleaner of the synagogue.

A memorial to Lututow’s Jewry, 1650-1942; my family was there until the very end

This sums up an incredibly moving day. Our guide, Piotr, would be most happy to help you if you are able to make it out this way, as he was an able translator and driver, and he now knows where all the relevant locals and spots of interest are. See you Wednesday. Dave The letter misses a lot. It misses the three pre-teen girls who were fascinated by our arrival, and the barking dog in Niemierzyn that led a man in a wife beater to come out and approach me menacingly before I jumped in the car. It misses the adorably fluffy pooch near the author's home, bouncing around in the snow and waking up the chickens, and then quickly coming to a rest once we got in the car. More importantly, it misses the real sense of emotion, and emotional confusion. Today was a day that could not have been planned better. Our guide, Piotr, may well have had the best tour of his life – one where he was the link to revealing parts of a family's history, while he is trying to do this for his own family's history (with many obstacles behind and ahead of him). As a bonus, he got to show us the more amicable side of his countrymen. Instead of the distrustful city dwellers in Lodz, we got the kindhearted (albeit initially suspicious – and justly so) locals who were willing to share what they knew and kept collectively bringing us toward the thrilling climax at the mill itself. Yet I still don't know what it means for me. It's a place of history for my family, but close relatives of mine were murdered there. I will never know my father’s cousin Zygmus, someone who would have been not much older than my father if he had the chance to live his life. So many possibilities were cut short. And I can't even feel that ill will toward the Poles themselves. It's this sadness that the homeland is not a land to call home. I did not know what to make of it, and I'm not sure I'll know for awhile.

The remnants of the family mill

I knew what to make of the Lodz Jewish cemetery though. That was a memorial site. I couldn't find great uncle Avram's grave – there were six Avram Berkowiczes buried there, and it was not possible to find him in one day, especially on a day where much of the cemetery was covered in snow. I couldn't even find Cara's relative Abram Pitel when we knew which area he was in. Of the hundreds of graves, none of those legible in Hebrew said Pitel, though many were covered in snow, some had fallen over, and others were impossible to read. Dodging thorns and brambles, I still couldn't complete that mission. Yet it was a mission I could take on, and I knew how to handle myself at a cemetery, albeit one with 180,000 graves, including more than 40,000 who died in the Lodz ghetto.

The Lodz Jewish cemetery covered in snow was one of the more beautiful places I’ve visited,

but it wasn’t so accommodating for finding relatives interred there

Here lie the Jews of Lodz.

Among the living inhabitants of the Lodz cemetery was this adorable and shy hedgehog

Similarly, I knew what to make of the Lututow memorial. I could place a stone at it, and feel the loss of way too many in my family, let alone the thousands of others. The church in the square though – was that the church used as the way station for Chelmno? That part I couldn't quite process. A synagogue that's now used for perhaps little more than storage is also tough to fathom, given it's likely the synagogue some family members belonged to until they moved and were ultimately forced out of Poland, one way or another. The true meaning of today will probably not be clear for some time. But I am glad it happened as it did.

More: While it seems anticlimactic to note as much, meals today: - Breakfast: vanilla wafers – perhaps the best wafers I ever had (devoured a huge pack last night and this a.m.) - Lunch: none really. Stopped at McD's by a gas station before heading down to Bolkow area. C and I got Diet Cokes, and we got "American" fries – thicker cut seasoned fries, served with a pretty good sour cream sauce, and not at all American

- Dinner: Tumidaj, a side-of-road hotel and restaurant that Drew Carey once ate at. It was pretty good – had soup with fermented rye barley broth with egg and kielbasa, on the table was some kind of bread with animal fat spread, a beer called Zywiec (decent, but not as good as last night's Ukrainian selection), then a plate of potato dumplings (pretty good) and a great fried cheese dish.

Also: Justin Bieber, Sting, and other luminaries stayed in our hotel when performing in Lodz. It's often the only Polish city they play. Madonna played Lodz but stayed in Berlin instead. I asked if that offended the Poles and Piotr said she was let off the hook as a celebrity. Monday, April 8 Hotel Stary, room 500 9:48pm Today, we checked out of Andel's Hotel Lodz, a remarkable place, even down to the heated floors in the bathroom. We had a quick breakfast there (me: salmon and trout, OJ, mini doughnut, mini cinnamon roll, sauteed mushrooms), then checked out and got a ride to the train station. We picked up a couple Diet Cokes at a newsstand with a magazine featuring a concentration camp prisoner – typical media fare here in Poland. Then we enjoyed a leisurely four hour ride through the countryside to Krakow, though I slept for a good deal of it after reading some. No fighting with feisty Poles for our window seats this time.

Light reading in Poland

Then we met our guide, W____, who has a comfortable car but not the most comfortable grasp on the English language or Krakovian history. But he'll do. He seems like he can get us around Nowy Sacz, which is the main objective. We checked into Hotel Stary – beautiful, charming, with a more rustic feel to it and missing a few of the amenities of the last one. We then had lunch in the Michelin rated restaurant that's part of the hotel – a wonderful meal of salmon with sour cream and caviar (both of us), a salad (C) and then beet risotto with frozen sour cream that melted into it (D), along with some outstanding hot bread, and some Perrier. Then we met W to hit Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter, a lively place today thanks to some March of the Living groups around, and very, very Jewish – Hebrew and Yiddish writing everywhere, a good number of Jewish cafes, and quite a few synagogues. We ducked into several including Remuh, with the cemetery (the "New" synagogue), Tempel synagogue restored with gorgeous artistic detail, and a couple others. The best find, for me at least, were the sculptures of hasids by a local artist in a bookstore. The Jew town was quite surprising, and we'd go back later for dinner.

The stars come out in Kazimierz.

The wooden carvings of Jews by Jozef Regula alternated between whimsical and,

as shown in the image above, haunting After a bit of a detour with our guide, we stopped by the hotel and went walking around the main market square. It was getting cool by then, after a brief flirtation with jacket-free weather earlier, but we walked around quite a bit, with the highlight being the incredibly overdone (in a good way) main church (St. Mary’s Basilica), with such attention to detail going up scores of feet high, to the point that few could ever possibly discern the subject matter of the paintings and glasswork toward the top. Remarkable in every sense.

In the main square of Krakow’s Old Town (Stare Miasto), it’s possible to get inside someone’s

head for a different point of view We went to the lauded underground exhibit about the medieval history of Krakow. It was multimedia exhibition porn, with reality being augmented, virtualized, and twisted in all sorts of unholy ways. It seemed to tell no story and wasn't particularly interesting until walking out, where a tunnel passed through the original foundations of the market, which are now underground – a similar scenario to the subterranean Wailing Wall add-on in Jerusalem. Yet by then, our senses were shot, and we needed to get the hell out of there. We then kept walking all around. We saw a bakery with cookies that resembled the Stella Doro kind with the chocolate pillows in the middle, but the Stella Doro cookies are much, much better. Oh well. And we saw various sites connected to local legend John Paul II, a Catholic that the Jews can love – such a perfect icon for this town. We saw the great sculpture of Grunwald. And all in all, we got to soak in a lot of what the city has to offer, namely a captivating old European city that somehow didn't get bombed by the Germans and was a once-thriving seat of government and trade.

For dinner, we got a cab to go back to K-town, aka J-town, and ultimately ducked out of a hot spot with an odd Italian-infused-with-Polish-food menu and went over to a well-reviewed Jewish spot Ariel – very traditional with lots of decor of pictures of Jews, in what looked like a 100-year-old Jewish dining room, with some odd Greek art scattered around. The best dish for me was the vodka infused with grass from the bison forest. The gefilte fish had too much jelly (it was drowned in it) and some odd skin on it that didn't work for me. Then the turkey cutlet with mushrooms was oddly reminiscent of something – not Grandmom's home cooking but Swanson's Salisbury steak. Eh, nostalgia's nostalgia. C's Jewish dumpling and chicken with some kind of plum & mushroom sauce were better. We headed out, C going straight into the hotel, and me going out looking for dessert. I passed by places that didn't quite do it for me, and then I settled on a grocery store to get C some Diet Cokes and then some amazing Milka chocolate-coated cookies. On the way back, I found a street food stand (Placki Ziemniaczane) where someone was making fresh potato pancakes with various accompaniments (plain, mushroom sauce, paprika sauce, etc), and I got one with garlic sauce – just fantastic.

Now that’s a latke!

Now back at the room and winding down, ready for the Nowy Sacz adventure tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 9 Hotel Stary, 500 5:29pm I slept well last night, aided by the NyQuil, which, combined with Airborne, helped avert the cold that was coming to me. A couple naps in the ride to and from Nowy Sacz made today especially restful; that has been a bonus of all the ground transportation. Saturday we had the train to Lodz, Sunday the ride to Bolkow, Monday the train to Krakow, and today the car to Nowy Sacz. Tomorrow's a train to Warsaw, and then Thursday and Friday we stay put for a bit – not a bad change of pace. This morning, we met W and headed out, me having a pack of Belvita crackers beforehand. We wanted some breakfast, especially for C, so W had a real treat for us: an old school, Communist-style milk bar, a dreary breakfast counter with some local specialties in an area near the old Krakow ghetto where no foreigner would ever think of going. The food – generally dough with various stufffings or bread topped with cheese or jam, was warm and filling (I had a 'Polish hot pocket' stuffed with seasoned eggs; C had that and some other kind of stuffed crepe).

The Soviet occupation generally left a bad taste in Poland;

the milk bar offered some of the better tastes of Communis.

Then we hit the road. I napped and missed most of it. C said there was a pretty church somewhere along the way and that W only drove the speed limit (very true – and sometimes apparently slower, as I could tell on the way back when I only slept for half of it). Then it was time for Nowy Sacz, starting with the cemetery. We needed a key to enter, which was unfortunate enough, though the most important thing was that the keeper was home. She spoke a bit of Yiddish, which didn't help me all that much and didn't help C at all. Few stones were remotely legible, as most were worn and faded, and a massive number were broken. Making it worse, the Hebrew emphasized first names over family names, so what I could read usually wasn't that useful. We did get to meet the resting place of tzadik [a renowned righteous Jew] Halberstam and family. The tzadik did have visitors recently, as a pilgrimage was there within the past week or so for the Yahrtzeit (Halberstam's death anniversary). [Aside: I met a very friendly dog outside who kept giving me his paw. Loved him.] [Aside 2: It’s amazing that more than one non-Jewish guide we met used the word “tzadik” as casually as if they were speaking English. Which reminds me of a Jewish joke…]

Cara returns home

A surprise across from a cemetery: I made a new best friend

Tzadik Halberstam gets far more mail than I do

The cemetery was probably the most depressing I've been to – a bleak setting to begin with, devoid of life, in disrepair. At least it exists though, unlike the one in Lututow. The site Virtual Shtetl notes of the latter: "The Jewish cemetery located in so-called Młynek (a settlement that is presently a suburb of Lututów, on the road from Łódź to Wrocław) was destroyed during the German occupation, as well as in the 1970s. A gravel and sand quarry followed, and the skulls and bones that were excavated in it were scattered in the nearby forest and roadside ditches. The area presently serves as an illegal trash dump." ( http://www.sztetl.org.pl/en/article/lututow/12,cemeteries/1740,cemetery-mlynek-/ )

Compare the Nowy Sacz Jewish cemetery with the cemetery in Lodz, or even the Remuh

Synagogue cemetery in Krakow. It’s one of the bleaker, rougher spots I’ve visited. And onward we went. We had a quick visit to the site of the old castle or fort for a nice view of the city. The next stop was the former Orthodox synagogue that's now an art gallery but also a research center, right in downtown Nowy Sacz. There's a lovely exhibit right now, and we met a very helpful woman close to our age who spoke great English and filled us in on some of the local history, and she gave C some useful genealogical info – not a ton, but at least something to go on about her family's history there.

Then we walked through the old city, including the massive town square as big as any we've seen in Europe or South America, more or less, and the main streets. It's again very charming, and very European; W noted it was part of Austria for awhile and resembles Austria to a large degree. I got an obwarzanki along the way – a twisted, O-shaped roll like a bagel, but more of the thickness of a large pretzel. Mine had some sesame and was really good.

Pope John Paul II greets us from the Nowy Sacz main square.

Then we made it to the records office, where W helped translate. They couldn't do much today, but C made a personal contact there and has some follow-up action items that she can move forward with. Lunch: Restauracja Ratuszowa, right in the main building in the main square. It looked old-fashioned and pretty local, though menus were also in English and German – a plus. We each got borscht soup (mine with cabbage dumplings) and pierogi (C: spinach & cheese, D: an incredible cottage cheese and buckwheat groats, Galician style). I also had flat 7UP (C: sparkling water).

It could be another European capital: the Nowy Sacz main square

We drove a long way for the best pierogies we ate in Poland.

Then the trip back. Not too notable, except at some point in the car we did hear Macklemore's "Thrift Shop," a very hot rap song and my recent favorite. So odd to hear it in Poland. It's funny, because before we left, I asked C how to say "pop some tags" (a line from the song) in Polish. Apparently they just listen to the English version. We headed back to Krakow and stopped by the one remaining gate from the Krakow Jewish ghetto. It's chilling, looking like large tombstones stitched together into a wall. Later, I'd notice a ghetto survivor relate the same comment about the walls as he saw them going up, posted in the Schindler museum. The museum itself, our next stop as we took leave of W, was one of the more visceral I've been to, one that's made some of the best uses of video and multimedia that I've seen, along with a disorienting while logical design, and rooms configured to perfectly tell the story of each subject, from the transparent panels with photos of residents of the ghetto when describing life there, to the blinding white and the gravel floor in the room about the end of the ghetto as the last Jews were transferred to a local concentration camp.

The Nazis signaled what was coming with Jewish ghetto walls that looked like tombstones

It was beyond intense, and I could have spent a full day there. We went back to our hotel and rested a bit. Then we hit up the most popular restaurant on TripAdvisor, a sushi joint called Youmiko with just a handful of seats (we sat at the sushi bar), soft drinks from Hamburg, and fish from local sources, plus some from Norway. Two Poles were the sushi chefs, serving mostly excellent creations (including a ridiculously good one with a roll of sorts made of salmon, topped with salmon tartar). I just wish they served sake; the cherry tea was pretty good. We settled up – it was $50 total including a generous enough tip, under 150 zlotys – and we had five rounds of the omakase, maybe more. Whatever it was, we were very full at the end. I walked C back to the hotel, just next door though the restaurant was hidden in a deep alley with no signage out front. I went around the block to a well-reviewed chocolate shop, Manufaktura something, and the mint chocolate bar was pretty intense (and great). After getting a few Diet Cokes and some Milka cookies at a convenience store next door (a 24 hour one – there are a number of 24 hour spots around here, something I didn't expect, since it's not like you see a ton of that outside of NYC beyond some chains like McD's), I made it back to the hotel. Now I must finally rest, as it's almost 12:30am and we must rise in 7 hours or so to hit Wawel Castle.

Yes, like Andel’s Hotel Lodz, the sushi bar Youmiko is another sign of Poland’s gentrification;

this may as well be Brooklyn

Wednesday, April 10 Hotel Bristol, 536 11:18pm This morning: up at 7:30, packed, checked out within the hour, and then breakfast at the Milk Bar restaurant (a modern one; not the Communist era one far outside the Old City). I got banana crepes with chocolate sauce – really fantastic, and some of the better hot chocolate I've had, plus fresh squeezed orange juice. I didn't realize the waitress who brought the apple juice misheard my request for apple fritters. C got a good egg dish. It wasn’t quite like yesterday's Milk Bar as there was English on this menu – though the clerk didn't quite understand it nonetheless. Then we hit Wawel Castle, which may be well restored but it still maintains some of the iconic touches of Communist bureaucracy. It was beautiful on the outside, and the cathedral was overwhelming. A big highlight was going down to see the royal tombs, including the ol' hero Kosciuszko. We also got to see the tomb former Polish president and his wife on the anniversary of their death – an all the more striking feat given that we also got to join the demonstrations in Warsaw outside our hotel, all on the same day. There's a conspiracy theory now that the Russians were responsible for blasting the plane of the nationalistic Poles out of the sky; the current administration is decidedly warmer with Russia, according to our driver W, who wholeheartedly believes the Russians were behind the officials' deaths.

The death of the Polish president, his wife, and other senior officials in a 2010 plane crash has

led to conspiracy theories similar in tone to those surrounding JFK’s death

We then got some souvenirs and tried to figure out the whole ticket procedure for the rest of Wawel, which entailed buying tickets to each exhibit piecemeal and then doing timed admissions at each one. That way we were able to see the armory and the chambers, but not the royal apartments. The best plan would have been to get the exhibit tickets first and then see the Cathedral exhibits in between, but the signage was as minimal as the helpfulness of anyone around the castle. There was a bonus though: we got to see a lot more in the process.

Some royally magnificent artwork adorned Wawel Castle

We tried heading to Czartoryski Palace to see the museum, but that was closed and looks like it won't open any month soon. We had our cab take us straight to the Pharmacy of the Eagle near the Schindler factory. Outside was an exhibit of empty metal chairs, with each one signifying the loss of 1,000 Krakowian Jews. The inside of the exhibit was well put together but didn't tell much of a story. It was more interactive a museum than most, with not just touchscreen displays and the like, but cabinets and drawers to open and even chemicals and minerals one could smell, with many hidden stories revealed through exploration. But the story of the righteous gentile who saved many lives and avoided the Nazis catching on to him wasn't remotely clear; brochures about the museum told far more of the story, and I bought a graphic novel based on the autobiography to learn more.

Each chair tells 1,000 stories.

We couldn't find a cab, so we took a 15-minute walk to the Old Synagogue, the oldest in Europe, dating back to the 1500s, with a thorough exhibit on Judaism itself – some of the best photos I've seen of pre-war Jews in Europe, and a well assembled 'track' on Jewish athletes in pre-War Krakow.

We then had to head out to get our bags, so we cabbed it to the hotel, briefly stopping by the main square to look for something quick to eat, to no avail. We'd grab some sandwiches at the train station. W was there at our hotel to greet us, and we loaded up our bags just as it started to rain. We fortunately missed the showers, perfectly timing our day. W insisted on accompanying us until after we got in our cabin, which proved especially useful since the train was delayed and then switched tracks. After staying with us and chatting a bit, W helped load us on, and then we were on our way, drifting through the snow-dusted countryside in rural Poland for about three hours until we got to Warsaw – on time, no less. The chicken sandwich from the station was edible, and the milk chocolate from Manufaktura last night was quite good; a Cherry Coke washed it down. We got a cab to our hotel, Bristol, dubbed the nicest in Poland, and we'd soon see why – it's outstanding, with that perfect balance of modernity and elegance. We couldn't quite get there though, as a demonstration with hundreds of people was blocking the plaza in front of the hotel, and the road was closed [only later would we realize our hotel was literally right next to the Presidential Palace]. We love a good demonstration and bought pins and flags, though while I started to shoot photos, a woman was talking to C about how there seemed to be a lot of crazies in the mix.

We had no idea we’d have so many guests at our hotel

After checking in and settling in for a few, enjoying the comforts of what will serve as our home for the next few days, we headed back out to enjoy the demonstration for a bit more and learn some new Polish songs. Then we got a cab and headed to the Polonia Palace hotel to see my dad. We caught up with him for awhile, telling him largely about our adventures in his ancestral hometown area of Bolkow, much to his amazement about how it all happened. We spent a bit longer deciding where to eat, and wound up going with U Fukiera, a restaurant largely housed in a vaulted brick basement that's been the choice of celebrities and dignitaries for decades. First though, we just managed to get a call from P____ of Lodz, whose family hails from Wielun as is a contact of another family member’s, as we were leaving the hotel. He had just returned from the March of the Living tour and was able to join us for dinner. The food was fine, though nothing special, and hardly worth the price. I had a decent herring in sour cream dish, and a very good pike/perch over a leek puree and spinach, while C's goulash and crab crepes were so-so. The conversation was fascinating though, as P has lived on several continents and achieved a lot of success business-wise before devoting himself in a large way to helping people understand a slice of what happened before, during, and after the Holocaust. He has rich knowledge of Poland and Europe, and he shared some of his story: he was a Hasid who escaped Lodz as a crypto Christian (for a train ride) only to get caught in the Warsaw ghetto and then Majdanek before building his life in Israel, Cape Town, Sao Paulo, London, Paris, and ultimately Toronto. It was wonderful company for the evening, and rare for me – while no stranger to Jews who lived through that period – to hear the thoughts and experiences of a survivor who was in the eye of the storm, especially one who's not a relative, which makes it easier to value the person and his story on their own merits rather than with familial attachment.

A couple of Wieluners back in the homeland

Now it is well past time to shut down, as touring is ahead, as well as meeting the other host behind the scenes, Czarek. It still is amazing that W was paid for courtesy of the Irish embassy. P noted, "No wonder the country is bankrupt." Thursday, April 11 Bristol 536 11:57pm

Okay, so it's actually post-midnight on Friday.... Anyway, it's been another great adventure in the land of our forefathers. This morning, we rushed out (me having set the alarm for PM rather than AM) to meet my father at Hotel Polonia, getting there just around 9:30 where we met our guide Magdalena, a non-Jewish Polish woman getting a PhD in Hebrew Studies. She had a wealth of knowledge on Warsaw, Poland, and Judaism, and proved to be a great person to lead what was mostly a walking tour through central Warsaw. The first area of note was that of the main synagogue, and there was something striking about it: it was currently being used as a synagogue. Everywhere else we went, the Jews were museum exhibitions; here, Jews were using a house of worship amidst an area that included kosher restaurants and other signs of life. At the local Judaica and kosher food shop, we bought a gorgeous kiddush cup that works well as its own art piece. My dad enjoyed meeting a couple of young Hasids who walked in.

Signs of Jewish life in Poland: Hasids shop at the Jewish general store

An old building downtown features the faces of the former Jews of Warsaw looking out from the windows – an exhibition called “I Can Still See Their Faces.” It's architecture as art, and as sad as it is beautiful. What's especially touching is that this city would want this, or could even tolerate it. How could any population continually stomach passing by the faces of the residents who were murdered there? And yet, by a grand church in a bustling area, here they are, looking out at everyone. They're still there, and yet they're not.

A pit stop: Kafe Komediowy Chlodna, a very funky, Bohemian coffee shop with some fantastic and rich hot chocolate. Then we headed to the Warsaw Ghetto's former walls, and the Ghetto's story became the focus for much of the rest of the tour. We saw the sculpture that's a rendition of where the Ghetto bridge used to be crossing the two sections of it (“A Footbridge of Memory”). We saw the memorial for Mordechai Anielewicz and other martyrs who died in the Ghetto Uprising. We went to the Umschlagplatz memorial denoting where Jews were shipped off to the camps. And then there was the massive monument to the victims and fighters, with the emphasis on the fighters, looking more like Greco-Roman soldiers and Olympians than Jews in a ghetto. It's empowering, but also puzzling. Did they have to turn Jewish heroes into something they weren't?

Father and son checking out the memorial demarcating the bridge that spanned the two sides

of the Warsaw Ghetto

A look inside the viewfinder

Warsaw Ghetto Uprising memorial

A note left by Israelis at a Warsaw Ghetto memorial: “Together we have walked in the footsteps

of the six million. While we walked, they crawled. While we cried, they suffered…”

Ghetto heroes or Greco-Romans?

There's a new focal point for Jewish history in Poland: the massive museum opening covering 1,000 years of Polish Jewish history. We got to enter the lobby, and I'd love to come back after it opens. The emphasis is on the 1,000 years, not just the six of the Holocaust. It's been fortunate for us that our trip has focused more broadly on Polish and Jewish history and not just the destruction itself. The Poles have been through centuries of oppression and occupation; "partition" is all too common a word in Polish history. And yet Poles have made outsized contributions to America, Europe, and mankind, so let's not forget the destruction, but let's appreciate who the Polish people are and what so many of them stand for. In my WWII education, Poles and Germans were all too readily conflated, and it's a great injustice done to them. The kindness we've felt from the Polish people here also goes a long way.

At the Museum of the History of Polish Jews, we met a fellow New Yorker, who also happens to

be Chief Rabbi of Poland Michael Schudrich (second from right) We said farewell to Magdalena and also my father. Then we went out for lunch. The Pierrogeria by the Barbican was closed indefinitely, so we found another spot nearby and had some great Pierogis – mine Russian style with cheese and - um?, and Cara's with mushroom and cabbage. Both excellent. I had a beer with some kind of flavored syrup, a thing here (piwo smakowe). Pretty damn good.

C rested up. I then met the hosts who flew us out to Poland (initially for a conference, though that was canceled). We had coffee (well, I had vanilla tea) in the hotel and we talked shop for a couple hours. Then I joined C to rest before heading out in the rain. I enjoyed the evening, getting lost in the old city for an hour and a half. I picked up some sundries at a Polish gourmet shop that just opened, and the proprietor was kind enough to walk me through pretty much everything there and where it came from. His good advice: don't bring horse meat to someone's house for dinner. They may not eat it. Thank you again, Poles! [While I wasn’t in the market for horse meat, it was especially good advice in the middle of a tainted horsemeat epidemic in Europe.] I then spent some time at the striking bronze WWII war monument.

The haunting faces of the Monument to the Heroes of the Warsaw Uprising

Then I picked up C at the hotel and we headed across the street to U Kucharzy, one of the hottest Warsaw restaurants, one my father went to and my Polish hosts recommended. After waiting a bit in the smoke-filled bar, we got our table, a prime seat right across from the guy rolling wafers that he'd fill with cream. It was a perfect seat, not near the noise of everyone else, and in an area that smelled especially good. People kept coming by for a wafer sample, and C had our waiter give us one as well before dinner. So good. I had a beer, which hit the spot, and then my fish soup came, which was some of the best soup I've had. C had to wait awhile for her goat cheese salad, which was pretty good too. Entrees weren't as hot. Her dorado was so-so, and my duck – a specialty there – was mediocre, with none of the juiciness or crispiness of the one I had at Anatewka in Lodz. We had a great waiter though. Dessert: we had a couple more cream-filled waffle cones, but both of us felt they weren't as sweet or flavorful as the ones before dinner. The meringue cake with berries (currant?) was amazing though, washed down with some honey vodka. This was the only meal that cost us anywhere close to $100 total, and still not quite, even with the tip. Now back at the hotel. C had her Diet Coke. Time to sleep shortly.

Oh do you know the wafer man?

Friday, April 12 Bristol, 536 8:41am A dream: I'm walking by some ballfield in Poland. A Pole, perhaps in his 60s, starts shouting at me in English to go home. "But I'm supporting your country," I said. He yelled back, "Go home and take your money with you." I kept walking, at that point knowing he was not just xenophobic but anti-Semitic and had pegged me for a Jew. As I was some distance away, he called out, "You Jews stole everything from us, even our recipes." I was offended enough and far enough away to tell him, "My grandmother didn't steal her recipes from you." He shot back, "Well then, who DID she steal her recipes from?" I deadpanned, "A penguin!" The dream ended. Bristol 536 4:03pm Once we got moving today around 10, we headed to the Warsaw Rising museum, which is similar in many ways to the Schindler museum in Krakow. First off, it's not what we expected. Just as we thought the Schindler factory would be largely about Schindler and it instead told the broader story of Krakow under Nazi occupation, we thought the Rising museum would be more about the Ghetto uprising, and instead it told the broader story of the Polish fight – specifically in Warsaw – to take back its city from the Germans. Warsaw suffered an even worse fate, as the Germans retaliated against the Polish by leveling the city (our guide Magdalena had noted German bombs are still found under the city on a regular enough occasion; they were far more frequently discovered in the 80s and 90s but now don't even warrant a mention in the news). The Polish in turn fought to get the Germans out of parts of Lithuania and the Ukraine, and the Soviets thanked them by disarming the Poles, arresting, deporting, and sometimes killing their leaders, and then, oh, taking advantage of the flattened and spent Warsaw by taking over the country; the Allied Forces were also too weakened and appeasing to put up a fight against Russia. This is another museum that could easily take up a full day, and there's SO much content through the various multimedia and hands-on storytelling formats that one could probably be there a week or even a month before watching all of it. While the Schindler museum was even more impactfully designed, with each room arranged in yet another artful way to convey the atmosphere surrounding the story itself, the Rising museum holds up plenty well on its own merits, especially compared to other museums I've been to, historical or otherwise. Then we were off to the Palace of Science and Culture, a Soviet relic that's generally disliked by locals, not just because of its reminders of all things Soviet but because so many people were displaced to create this largest architectural complex in Warsaw. It was so massive that we kept getting lost looking for the elevators to the top for a view of the city (fine, but nothing too special). We did get to spend a fair amount of time in the science museum, which must be one

of the stranger museums on Earth. There are exhibits featuring old appliances, computers, telephones, model space shuttles from the USA and USSR, smelting, forestry, and other odd subjects. In a side room on the top floor, we ran into a curator sitting there who didn't scowl at us like all the others. Instead, he got up and locked us in a room full of mirrors. Then he took our picture. And then he spent the next 10 minutes showing us all kinds of science experiments. I don't think he gets a lot of visitors.

Please go visit the Polish Bill Nye. He is desperate for more visitors.

Rooting for the home team!

After finishing there and exploring the terrace above the city, we headed back to the old city and stepped into Zapiecek, a pierogi chain that had some great options, including individual pierogies and a difference between a grandma portion (9) and grandpa portion (11). Cara had 9 steamed Russian ones, and I had 9 fried ones (surprise: mine were better). I also had a great mulled tea type of drink that was comforting and warm on this cool and rainy day. C then headed back to the room and rest up, and I went out for a long walk for a couple hours. Fairly early on, I got a bottle of Jack Daniels honey whiskey for our hosts tonight and then a couple bottles of Diet Pepsi for C; I'd get a razor later. After hitting the limits of the Old City, I kept walking – first past a church I hadn't seen, and then past a school just outside the old city, and then I have no clue where, but it was fun exploring it. I wound up at a beautiful monument of crosses in a cart, and then at the fun Pegasus sculptures outside the National Library right across from the Supreme Court, which was adjacent to the bronze monument to soldiers. After that, I was able to find the Nike monument we kept passing by and got a better look at this symbol of Warsaw. Then I made it back to the Bristol.

A couple of the more haunting war monuments of Warsaw

Pegasus sculptures adorn the lawn of the National Library.

Scenes from the Monument to the Heroes of the Warsaw Uprising

Bristol 536 11:46pm Packing up, it will be as strange to leave Poland as it has been to be here. This was an unexpected trip that arose from unanticipated circumstances, and we didn't expect just how much we'd enjoy the food, people, history, genealogy, and overall vibrancy of the country. It's also especially fascinating to visit now, as it still grapples with what it means to be a truly independent country – as it only emerged relatively recently from the Soviet sphere. Freedom here is still new, and valued. Cities are still being built and rebuilt. English has replaced Russian as the second language of choice. Coke has replaced Pepsi, practically everywhere outside of the Soviet hall of science. Tonight, we had one more unusual experience here: a home-cooked meal. That's unusual enough for me as-is, let alone on a trip abroad. One of our trip hosts had us over for dinner at their suburban home, in a new development on land that used to be owned by Poland's king. We ate like royalty, having salad, chicken soup, zucchini, red peppers, roasted potatoes, meat, homemade tiramisu, some desserts that I brought, and probably more – plus lots of wine and then tea (in a lovely pot no less). American TV was a hot subject once we wrapped up discussing our trip and what we've gotten out of Poland.

A fine final dinner in Poland (until we make it back again)

Now we're back, as I navigate Ryanair's site and policies, C checked in, and we plan to go our separate ways tomorrow unfortunately. I'm booked on the London Eye, so that'll be a treat. More adventures to come... I still can't believe not just that I've been to Poland, but that I'll miss the place. Thank you, Poland. Further reading: The Peasant Prince: Thaddeus Kosciuszko and the Age of Revolution by Alex Storozynski http://www.amazon.com/Peasant-Prince-Thaddeus-Kosciuszko-Revolution/dp/0312388020

A populist Polish war hero with progressive views on equal rights honed his skills in America’s Revolutionary War – a war that could have gone quite differently without him. Meet the builder of West Point, one of Thomas Jefferson’s great friends, and a general whose name George Washington would spell 11 different ways in his letters.

A Question of Honor: The Kosciuszko Squadron: Forgotten Heroes of World War II by Lynne Olson and Stanley Cloud http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001334IVU/ref=r_soa_w_d

How well London would have fared without the service of Polish airmen in World War II’s Battle for Britain and beyond? Many of Poland’s bravest men and women joined the Allied forces as it continued to run its rebel government in exile, though the Allies spent six years dragging their feet before capitulating entirely to Stalin.

A sign from 1944 shown in the Warsaw Rising Museum

playing off Poland’s unofficial motto, “For our freedom and yours”

Saturday, April 13 Park Plaza Westminster Bridge, 1339 10:35pm 12 hours ago, I was about to lift off above Poland. It wasn't the easiest ordeal to go through Ryanair. I got to the ticket counter, having checked in online and my baggage allowance already covered, but they needed a printed boarding pass – or it would cost $100+ to print one. And then that had to be stamped at another desk. By the time I went back on line, got through security, and got a Diet Coke, I then was on a VERY slow passport control line, and by the time I got to the gate, it was already boarding – though then there was another VERY long wait on the bus to the train parked way out in some remote spot, and then I had to contend with things like having a reserved seat on a flight where they don't do that kind of thing, and then having issues like all bags and jackets up top in exit rows, and the seat in front of me not having a pocket, and the window shade not going down, and the credit card machine on the plane not working for my US credit card to buy a train ticket to London, and other odds and ends. But I got there. And then I got through another slow passport control line to finally get my bag, get a ticket (again, the card wouldn't work – good thing I got British pounds), and then rush down to the train with a whole bunch of Poles. The train was modern and pleasant, and for the 30GBP for the train and metro, it was about a quarter of what would have been about $180 US (with tip) to take a cab to my hotel. The Liverpool Street metro station for the transfer was dizzying. All kinds of trains, ticket machines, etc. It was like going from being a country bumpkin to being back in a big city, and a foreign city, and yet a city where everything is in English and pretty much everyone speaks English. People say things like "Cheers" and they are saying so sincerely. I finally managed to get oriented enough to get my Tube ticket and made it to Westminster station, and there the day began again, as I was right there in front of Big Ben, and the London Eye, and double decker buses and bobbies and the adorable old taxis and thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people.

One of my first views of London this trip: the London Eye

The weather was actually miserable. It was drizzling and misty when I got off the train, and within an hour it would start raining consistently. It was cold enough that later I regretted leaving gloves in my room. But that wasn't stopping a single person, so it seemed, from enjoying their Saturday in London. And it of course wasn't going to stop me. I checked into the hotel, one even more conveniently located than I remembered given what's around here, and the Park Plaza associate, Irona, was helpful in combining two separate reservations that I had, upgrading my room in the process. The suite's fine, including enough of a kitchen to use, and I can't say I'll need all the space, but it is fun going in the secret elevator exclusively to my floor and two others. Really, that's why people would normally get this room – for the elevator. There's a lesson in there somewhere. I reworked what I needed to have on me and darted out to the London Eye, picking up my Fast Track ticket, which was a good investment, especially on this rainy day, as it allowed me to cut a snaking queue and walk right on to the capsule as it was opening. There, I not only got views of Big Ben, Whitehall, 10 Downing St, various churches and palaces, modern structures like the Shard (the tallest building in the EU), and others, but I got to photobomb a lovely Muslim family enjoying their London tour.

Meet my adopted family!

Big Ben from above on a perfectly dreary London day

The Samsung tablet helped orient this new tourist to many of the main sights of London

Then I went walking. I went along Whitehall, saw the monument honoring the pilots of the Battle for London – looking for the Polish squadrons that I'm currently reading about, going through Trafalgar Square without realizing it was Trafalgar Square, going through Leicester Square which I thought might have been Trafalgar Square, getting Indian food at Dishoom (a spot recommended by my friend Nihal on Foursquare), and then taking a leisurely walk home via the Hungerford Bridge. Dinner: amazing calamari (some of the best I've had), some decent chicken curry, a couple great glasses of masala chai tea (again, some of the best I've had), decent garlic naan, and a really oddly spiced cider that wasn't quite drinkable. For such a hot spot and a filling meal, it wasn't bad at 30GBP/$45.

The Battle of Britain monument, and the insignia for the Polish Kosciuszko Brigade

in the Royal Air Force

Walked back and dodged more rain. Enjoyed the views. Then got caught up on email to some small degree – a start. Touring tomorrow. C got home safe - miss her terribly. Must finally wind down. Oh and PS: I went to Marks and Spencer at Charring Cross and got ham flavored chips (vegetarian), chocolate covered cookies that are mostly chocolate, and a great microbrew (wheat). Made for a nice dessert. Monday, April 14 12:49pm Park Plaza, 1339

Tour day! This time though, it was all touring, and all as a tourist. Woke at 7am, got ready, and joined a few people from the hotel getting picked up from different tours for the same company. We were on the road by 7:30, ultimately to the Victoria bus station. An hour later, our bus of about 37 people was moving, plus the amicable driver and the cheeky but sometimes overly crotchety 50-something Brit (much of his shtick was an act, but his lack of interest in anything others said seemed authentic).

Our cheeky guide was a little sheepish

After traveling outside of the city, we made our way to Stonehenge just after 10. It appropriately started to rain and did for almost the whole time we were there – all of 45 minutes. I don't mind London (and environs) in the rain though given the character it adds to such a rainy place. Stonehenge, though, isn't that interesting in pretty much any weather, though perhaps the solstice is fun there. I was drawn more to the sheep. Stonehenge may well be a fantastic ploy by the Brits to get people outside of London and then see how beautiful everything else is. Perhaps it's a ruse by John Cleese working for the Ministry of Propaganda. The end of the audio guide, which I mostly listened to for a change (ahh, the joys of being on a tour group), was all about how if the stones weren't there and there was no mystery about them, it would still be such a magical place. It's a field. A somewhat chalky field. Lots of grass. And some adorable sheep. That's it. The only real magic act is the audio guide's enthusiasm.

Elaine: “I went to Stonehenge, yada yada yada, there were some adorable sheep.”

Jerry: “But you yada yada’d over the best part!” Elaine: “No, I mentioned the sheep.”

The point of the whole 12-hour trip: a selfie from Stonehenge

Also: I ate a cheese and onion 'hot pocket' - a pasty. More road tripping, passing tank crossings and other oddities. It was good to hear bits and pieces of British lore. We then got to Bath, and I stunned our guide with my lack of knowledge about the white & red flag of St. George. Later on the bus, he'd bring it up again and spell out St. George's name for me, and I replied, "St. Jeff? St. Jerry?" Bath is a striking city – so unbelievably beautiful, and so worth staying in for a long weekend. The Roman museum was fascinating, with all the rich history intact there, though I didn't get to stay long. An Indian American from Hyderabad originally (now Chicago and/or London) was tagging along and slowing me down a bit – nice enough chap though, also traveling alone. He was rather shocked at my carelessness with street crossings; it's much easier in London where roads tell you which way to look. I got a Thai chicken pasty at a pretty impressive shop, and then a Caramel Chocolate shortbread slice elsewhere, while soaking in what more of the city I could.

When in former Rome…

After this, I should give up on selfies because they’re not going to turn out better than this

More driving, more Spotify on iOS. More cheeky one-liners. Then we made it to Stratford-upon-Avon, a lovely hippie college town, like Woodstock or Berkeley or Asheville or Madison or Austin, but one obsessed with Shakespeare, and rightfully so. At his birthplace, there was a mercifully brief video intro, an also brief performance of a few passages by a woman in Elizabethan dress while there was OJ and champagne for the audience (also scones with cream and jam, but I didn't want a raisin scone), and then a quick tour of the house he was born in – by far the most interesting part. Then I toured around, bought a wooden duck at the market, soaked in the swan and Shakespeare statues (all in the rain), and snacked. A gourmet lunch and snack spot (Carlucci’s) had massive flavored meringue cookies, and as I ate one under an awning around the corner, a few 40-ish British women passed by. I don't know if one of them was on something, but the last of the three to walk by not only asked for a bite (and took one out of the cookie), but was hoping for the rest – and I gave it to her, as I couldn't even finish what I had broken off. I can't tell if she was on drugs or just British.

So yeah, I wonder if a local woman was on drugs, and yet after getting my Shakespeare fix,

THIS is what I was doing on the street? Made it back to the bus. Drove a couple hours (well, not me) as I read my book on the British and Americans shafting Poland in WWII. Got back to Victoria station. Walked a bit and wound up by Buckingham Palace and the gardens – another marvelous sight not even a half hour's walk from the hotel. Basked in Big Ben's face lit up at night. So beautiful – I mean handsome.

A glimpse of the beauty by Buckingham Palace

Got back to the hotel. Room service: garlic naan, pineapple juice, shrimp Caesar salad, salmon tikka with cucumbers and raita. All very good. Now catching up on lots of work stuff. Winding down soon. Tuesday, April 16 12:30am Park Plaza Westminster, 1339 And the final hours in Europe (for this trip) are upon me. Today: walked an hour this morning to the office of Peerindex, north of the Southwark Bridge, though I took Blackfriars Bridge to get there. It's a city of wonders at every turn, with the biggest surprise on this leg being walking past St. Paul's Cathedral. Signs are already popping up across the city of Margaret Thatcher's funeral; I missed a rowdy protest by an hour or two in Trafalgar Square Saturday night. Perhaps it's for the best that I didn't want to stay out too late that day.

A sign of a great city: this is what you find when you’re aimlessly strolling along

I had a good 90-minute chat with Peerindex CTO Phil Guest. Then I walked Southwest down to 360i's office. Starving, I grabbed a Chinese chicken and mushroom bun, then a couple Vita Coco drinks, and then stumbled on the international food stands on Whitecross St. where I bought a couple brownies, and then a spicy chicken sandwich that proved a bit too messy and spicy to enjoy. Made it to the office after a good 45-minute walk or so, thoroughly enjoying it all the way. The office is in a great little building just north of Covent Garden, and Rob Connolly, the 360i'er running it, gave me the grand tour, with the team offering a kind reception. I gave a talk for about an hour on ways to work with 360i and Steak there.

A bit later, Rob and I left for dinner. He was going to take me to Dishoon, but alas, I had already been. He brought me through Covent Garden to an old bar – a wine bar no less – set mostly underground, Gordon's, where we had a couple glasses of Shiraz. Then we headed across Hungerford Bridge (the other side of where I crossed before) and stopped at Canteen for deviled kidney on toast (great), fish & chips (good, but fries better than the fish), some local beer, and enjoyable conversation – about religion, food, culture, some work, and whatnot. Made it back to the room. Plenty to catch up on but not terribly behind. Had more chocolate covered biscuits from Marks & Spencer (same package as before). Quite a delicious lot. Cheers.

Kidneys never looked (or tasted) so good

Postscript Somehow I must have been too exhausted, or perhaps just out of it mentally, to bother writing up the end of the trip. Here’s the gist, written a few weeks later (May 5, 2013): I packed up the next morning and took a fairly short walk back to the Covent Garden area to visit Google’s office – very much a typical Google space, though I did note they had soft drinks prominently, rather than fruit juices and the like. I had a great catch-up with former 360i’er Robert Wollner over a filling spread from Google’s cafeteria.

I’m feeling lucky: a reunion with former colleague Robert Wollner at Google UK

Then I had a much shorter walk to 360i’s London office, where I worked for a bit and chatted with a few blokes before heading around the corner to Hospital Club, a swanky spot similar to Soho House, founded by tech magnates who reclaimed and renovated the building. There I met with Andrew Grill, CEO of Kred / Peoplebrowsr, and had a fun discussion about influencer marketing. Lunch was some kind of fish dish, I believe. Then I took the Tube to Heathrow, getting through security quickly and well ahead of when the gate was announced for my flight. Soon, I was one of the first in the waiting area for Kuwait Airways, where I went through another security check but no passport control. The planes were standard – neither too modern nor scarily antiquated – but the service in coach was courteous, I had room to spread out in my row, and even was served a menu for the flight (Halal – no pork or alcohol).

Kuwait Airways: no alcohol, but adorable safety announcements

Soon enough, I was back home in New York, with a newfound appreciation for the fatherland, and some fond memories of the UK. Here’s a phrase not uttered enough: Thank you, Poland. (You Brits are alright too.)

The End